


With Daisies in her Hair

by StarSpray



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Ficlet, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 16:08:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13127145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarSpray/pseuds/StarSpray
Summary: Sam has just settled himself on Tol Eressea when Galadriel comes to call.Written for mamiinaandthediamonds for Tolkien Secret Santa 2017





	With Daisies in her Hair

"Beautiful she is, sir! Lovely! Sometimes like a great tree in flower, sometimes like a white dafffadowndilly, small and slender like. Hard as di’monds, soft as moonlight. Warm as sunlight, cold as frost in the stars. Proud and far-off as a snow mountain, and as merry as any lass I ever saw with daisies in her hair in springtime. But that’s a lot o’ nonsense, and all wide of my mark." - _The Two Towers_ , “The Window on the West”

 - -

Tol Eressëa was a wonder, and no mistake. In the weeks following his arrival Sam saw nearly all of it, either on walking outings with Frodo or riding about in a pony-drawn cart the Elves had made for the hobbits’ use. Avallónë was large and sprawling, a patchwork of building styles from dozens of eras that Sam only knew of from songs and stories, and one was quite likely to meet characters out of those songs just strolling along the street—that was how Sam met King Gil-galad, overseeing the expansion of an already massive library, and Finrod Felagund, playing a game of hopscotch with some Elven children.

  
But, perhaps unsurprisingly, Sam’s favorite place on the island was the little house the Elves had built for Frodo and Bilbo when they first arrived. It was as much like a hobbit house as one could hope, though of course built with considerations for the multitude of rather tall visitors the hobbits regularly received. But it had all the comforts of home—and Sam most especially loved the garden, filled with vegetables and flowers of all kinds, from Mr. Bilbo’s favorites—laburnums and snapdragons and all sorts of lilies—to delicate white and pale green niphredil lining the paths, and golden elanor bobbing among the daisies by the parlor windows. It was quite similar to the garden at home, at Bag End, although with a distinct Elvish feel to it. All of which to say: Sam felt immediately at home. All that was missing was a good supply of pipeweed, and he’d taken thought to that and brought a packet of seeds with him, of the best the Southfarthing had to offer.

  
One afternoon, Frodo had gone walking along the beach, and Bilbo to have tea with friends in Avallónë, leaving Sam to his own devices. He puttered about the garden, taking advantage of the strange air of the island that seemed to have swept away all the aches and pains of old age, leaving him feeling quite spry and not at all creaky, and then settled down beneath a blossoming apple tree with his pipe. As he blew smoke rings up into the branches, he heard a call from up the hill.

  
It was Lady Galadriel, walking barefoot through the grasses, clad in pale blue and with daisies twined in her hair. Sam got to his feet and bowed as she approached. She was smiling, and looked far more carefree than she ever had in their previous meetings in Middle-earth. She had freckles on her nose and across her bare shoulders, from days spent in the sunshine. “Well met, Master Samwise,” she said when she reached the apple tree. “May I join you?”

  
“Of course, my lady!” Sam said, and bowed again before sitting down. Galadriel sat on the grass, skirts billowing lightly about her, and regarded Sam with clear, keen eyes. There was none of the probing and testing from their first meeting, and in any case Sam was much too old for bashfulness now, and he gazed right back.

  
Finally, Galadriel smiled, bright as a sunbeam. “You have lived a full life, Master Samwise,” she said. “But I am glad you have come here to rest for a while, before your final journey.”

  
“I’m quite glad about it, myself,” said Sam. “If you don’t mind me asking, my lady, what have you been doing here? I don’t imagine there’s much call for ruling, begging your pardon, what with all the different kings and queens running about.” There were in fact more kings than kingdoms, and Sam often wondered what they were all doing with themselves (besides building libraries and playing hopscotch, anyway).

  
She laughed. “No, there isn’t! That is why I left—to build my own kingdom to rule as I wished, without fathers or brothers or uncles hanging over me. I was young, and did not understand what it was that I wanted. But I have achieved all I set out to do and more,” she said, “and now I am content to do no more than sit in the grass beneath the sun with old friends.”

  
Sam blew another smoke ring up into the flower-laden branches overhead. “That’s quite sensible of you, my lady,” he said, and she laughed again, light and carefree; he had once told Faramir she could be merry as any lass he ever saw in the Shire with flowers in her hair, and that was now more true than ever. Sam doused his pipe and got to his feet. “And since it’s nearing teatime, the _most_ sensible thing would be to have a picnic on the grass beneath the sun! Would you like to try some cobbler, my lady? It’s my Elanor’s recipe.”

  
“I would be delighted, Master Samwise.”


End file.
